#(which is a deliberate choice on my part)

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Wei Wuxian and Narrative Agency – Part Three

For Xiantober Day Five: Past and Present, in which the author gets very unhinged about what parts of the past are shown and how that’s affected by the present!

(Part One | Part Two | Full version on AO3)

The Power of Agency: Shaping the Narrative

When I've discussed Wei Wuxian's agency previously, I’ve talked about how what’s shown and omitted tells us about a character, and we’ve talked about the character himself. Though this is a niche topic, it’s not necessarily something out of the ordinary to analyse, and we can assume everything up to here has been in some way intentional.

This? Linking structure to a character’s in-universe preferences?

This is where we get unhinged.

Before I start, let’s quickly establish something which will be important later: although Wei Wuxian is the central character, MDZS isn’t strictly from his POV. While omitting events a character doesn’t like to dwell on and concealing things the character wishes to hide is common in books with only one narrator, MDZS has multiple narrators which it switches between relatively quickly. This includes Wei Wuxian, but it also includes nearly every major character that appears in the story, and omniscient narrator as well. As a default, this format doesn’t lead to this deliberate shaping and omission because of one character’s preferences, since we have many other sources of information and events – which is what makes Wei Wuxian’s influence over the narrative and structure so interesting. We could have access to a lot more information, and access to it at different times, than we do (and that’s not an insult, quite the opposite!).

To begin: we’ve established that times such as Wei Wuxian’s time on the streets, his three months in the Burial Mounds and his loss in the Siege aren’t shown because Wei Wuxian has little agency there. But that’s not the only special thing about them. They’re also the three most traumatic times in his life, and so moments Wei Wuxian himself either can’t remember, or doesn’t like to dwell on.

This is why discussing Wei Wuxian’s treatment of tragedy in his life was important. Firstly, it shows he doesn’t focus on the tragedy in his life, so the idea that the narrative not focusing on this tragedy relates to his character has merit; secondly, it affirms that this is not a passive trait, but a choice. Therefore, when the narrative omits events due to this aspect of Wei Wuxian, it’s respecting not only a character detail – which would be cool by itself – but also an active decision. One that shapes the story it’s made in.

In other words, its very structure is respecting Wei Wuxian’s agency!

Now, of course there are flashbacks to other moments of his past he probably wouldn’t like to dwell on, too. But within the structure, they’re only shown when Wei Wuxian is thinking about them (or when he has reason to)!

Wei WuXian hadn’t woken up yet. His eyes were still tightly shut, yet his hand didn’t let go either. He seemed to be dreaming, muttering, “… Don’t… Don’t be angry…” Lan WangJi seemed somewhat surprised. His voice was gentle, “I am not angry.” Wei WuXian, “… Oh.” Hearing this, as though he finally felt assured, his fingers loosened. Lan WangJi sat beside Wei WuXian for a while. Seeing that he was motionless again, he was about to stand up when Wei WuXian grabbed him with his other hand, hugging his arm and refusing to let go. He shouted, “I’ll go with you, quick, take me back to your sect!” Chapter 63, EXR translation

Which, of course, is him dwelling on…

Lan WangJi spoke one word at a time, “Go back to Gusu with me.” Hearing this, both Wei WuXian and Jiang Cheng were surprised. Quickly afterward, Wei WuXian laughed, “Go back to Gusu with you? To the Cloud Recesses? Why go there?” He immediately seemed to realize, “Oh. I forgot. Your uncle Lan QiRen hates crooked people like me. You’re his proudest disciple, so of course you’re the same as him, haha. I refuse.” Chapter 62, EXR translation

…the painful flashback immediately preceding this. The third set of flashbacks (which are also painful) are a similar case. Look at the contex:

He lifted the bottom of his robe, revealing a prosthetic leg made of wood, “This leg of mine was destroyed by you, that night in the Nightless City (…)” (…) “Wei WuXian, I won’t ask you if you remember or not. Both of my parents died by your hands. You owe too many people. You definitely won’t remember them either. But, I, Fang MengChen, will never forget! And never forgive you!” (…) “In the fight at Qiongqi Path, my son was strangled to death by your dog Wen Ning!” “My shixiong died by poison, his entire body festering due to your cruel curse!” Chapter 68 (immediately preceding the flashbacks), EXR translation

And Wei Wuxian’s own thoughts and words:

Wei WuXian looked at the cultivators before the Demon-Slaughtering Cave. Their expressions were the absolute same as those of the cultivators from the night of the pledge conference, pouring their wine on the ground as they took the pledge to scatter the ashes of the Wen Sect’s remnants and him.  (…) Wei WuXian, “Now it’s time to ask just whom it is that treasures it so much. It’s like Wen Ning. Back then, some certain sects or so were scared to death of the Ghost General. They said they’d kill him on the surface, but behind their backs they hid him for over ten years. How strange. Who was the one that said his ashes had been scattered back then?” Chapter 79 (immediately succeeding the flashbacks), EXR translation 

Once again, Wei Wuxian’s own thoughts relate to the flashbacks we’ve just been shown. And, as I previously mentioned, though all the events which are shown are tragic, they’re also events which Wei Wuxian’s own choices and actions shaped – which he has this to say about:

“The things I did, not only do you remember them, I remember them too. You won’t forget them, and they’ll stay even longer in my mind!” Chapter 82, EXR

Admittedly, this applies more to the third set of flashbacks than the second (which is still fitting as the third set was the most recent), as in the second, although he still had agency within and influence over his circumstances, the majority of the pain was caused by others’ actions (excluding, of course, the Golden Core transfer… which is something we know stays for a long time in his mind, albeit with a caveat we’ll soon discuss). But it’s still important to note – especially considering that otherwise, focusing on this very painful time in his life wouldn’t seem like something very in-character for Wei Wuxian to do.

Of course, this can all just be explained by good writing. It is best to insert flashbacks when they’re relevant to the characters and events in the present day! But it is interesting to compare these to the start of the (not painful) Gusu flashbacks, which open this way:

At a later time, Wei WuXian pondered upon the reason why his relationship with Lan WangJi wasn’t good. Getting to the root of the matter, everything started when he was fifteen, coming to the GusuLan Sect with Jiang Cheng to study for three months. Chapter 13, EXR

Again, considering the circumstances around which these flashbacks take place – returning to the Cloud Recesses for the first time since the lectures, and meeting Lan Wangji once more – it makes complete sense for Wei Wuxian to be thinking about these events*. So it does fit the pattern of Wei Wuxian dwelling on something, thus leading to the narrative dwelling on it, too (and being shaped by his thoughts)… but there’s another layer to this. Importantly, it is the only flashback where Wei Wuxian’s present thoughts don’t lead to this happening, with his thoughts at an unspecified future time leading to it, instead. I like to interpret this as the text saying that, since these events aren’t something Wei Wuxian wouldn’t focus on in normal circumstances, he can dwell on them at any time. Therefore, they’re free to come up in the narrative at any time as well, even if he’s not dwelling on them in the present moment!

So, to summarise: Wei Wuxian’s decision not to focus on the painful times in his life directly influences the narrative to not focus on these times. When painful times are brought up and shown to us, it’s in the context of him thinking about them in the present day, and even then, his most painful moments still aren’t shown to us. His agency in this regard is still respected by the narrative structure.

This is the main way his agency influences the structure of the narrative, but I’d like to talk about the revealing and concealing of information, too. For example, I said I’d talk about the Golden Core transfer – though Wei Wuxian does think about this many times, as evidenced by his internal narration in Chapter 103. But unlike everything we’re shown through the flashbacks, this is something Wei Wuxian is actively trying to hide from others. And the narrative respects this choice (Wei Wuxian’s agency, again), never reveals it even when it would be relevant in the flashbacks, and we find out not through narration, but through a character’s dialogue!

And to clarify – I know these aspects may not be in the book for this exact reason. Showing flashbacks in relevant moments is good writing, concealing an important plot point you want to do a reveal for is necessary writing, and MXTX has said she didn’t want to write about Wei Wuxian’s time in the Burial Mounds, due to not liking to write transformation sequences (and also because it would not be pleasant at all, which likely also applies to Wei Wuxian’s death). That doesn’t prevent it from also being intentional – MXTX’s intelligence is shown in many aspects of this book, and there’s nothing disproving it – but there’s no proof for either option, so I won’t pretend there is. I bring this up because I know this feels like I’m overanalysing, as I feel that way as well.

But, whether it’s intentional or not, it exists in the text, and I adore it – so, regardless, it’s something I’ll explore. Because taking this into account… We aren't just told about Wei Wuxian having agency, we aren’t just shown it in the text, we aren’t even just shown it through which parts of his past are shown and hidden in the structure of the text (as I talked about in Part One). The parts of the past that are shown and hidden also have an in-universe reason for being shown and hidden, this reason being the choices he makes! Agency is the ability of a character to influence the story they’re in, but Wei Wuxian’s agency, as a property of a character who only exists in-universe, shapes the out-of-universe structure as well! That’s how we’re shown its importance! How cool is that?

At The End Of The Road: Summary and Final Thoughts

In this essay, we’ve covered how important Wei Wuxian’s agency is not only to the events of the plot, but to the structure of the narrative as well. The narrative omits periods in which Wei Wuxian has little or no agency, in favour of showing us periods in which he does, even when important events happened in the former. This indicates that who Wei Wuxian is without agency isn’t important enough to be shown to the audience, and therefore that his agency is an integral aspect of his character in MDZS. We’ve discussed how both in-universe and out-of-universe, tragedy does not define him – out-of-universe, the tragic events in Wei Wuxian’s life are used not to build sympathy but rather to show his strength of character and who he still is despite going through them; and in-universe, he chooses not to focus on the negativity and resentment caused by his circumstances or others’ actions, instead staying true to his moral compass and enjoying his life in the present day. Finally, we’ve also explored how this choice is another reason for the omission of certain events from the narrative, resulting in his agency shaping the story in a very literal way – it affects the out-of-universe structure, as well.

It’s quite fitting, for a story whose essence is about defying a conventional narrative – that of righteous clans rising up and defeating a great evil – and about a character who defies many conventional narratives on his own – that of status defining how skilled you could be, that for a golden core being necessary for cultivation and other paths being unavailable, that of a tragic but complete story of someone killed for staying true to their moral code (instead, that character returns to life and has a happy ending) – to have its own narrative play a role in such an important and interesting way.

(Or, if an image would be preferable:)

Thank you for reading!

(Part One | Part Two | Full version on AO3)

--

*This strong relation to the present day circumstances is another reason I love the flashback placement so much (and why I think it’s such a loss both screen adaptions altered it so strongly)! 

[festivalfoxes]

'psychosis is good because it is So Much feeling and experience' 'psychosis is bad because of the random fears' 'psychosis is complicated because it's probably some kind of underpinning of how my brain works and therefore it's difficult to identify how much would change without it but also i would like never again to be stuck in a relationship i'm convinced is some kind of metaphorical but also Very Real time travel wherein if i can finally please this shitty other person i will have Proven and Created something about my own life'

[puts these in a blender] [bottles it] [sticks a burning rag in it and then immediately smashes it on the ground at my feet]

[hazuneji]

every other week or so im struck with the powerful urge to become an editor on the limbus wiki. its been an uphill battle every time i see smth that i know and isnt on there or that could be fixed. but holy shit would i never do anything else

[transgothicgenre]

i really like mole because it's like. it's about a lot of things. but one of the biggest parts to me is the paranoia . like. "i know what you want and you know what i want" is already so incredibly damning bc that's not how human interaction works so at least one of these parties is making assumptions. and then just following that line up with "information, information". again its the assumption bc neither party is saying with any clarity what the information is so they could be communicating on totally different wavelengths but there's still just that unspoken level of assumption. you know what i want. i know what you want. we don't need to specify at all. you know. i know.

[mikkeneko]

That post about Marcille and Laios' relationship actually got me thinking about Chilchuck and Laios' relationship. Which is harder to see in some ways because it mostly consists of positive absences.

At first, viewers might be inclined to wonder why Chilchuck sticks with the party. He says it's because he took payment up front, but he could give back part of the deposit and leave. Two other party members left; Laios explicitly gave Marcille and Chilchuck a choice as to whether they would stay or go, and they both chose to stay.

We know why Marcille chose to stay; she wants to save Falin and she considers the other party members her friends. Why did Chilchuck stay?

Chilchuck actually respects Laios a lot -- food and monster weirdness aside -- and that mostly comes I think through the positive absences from above. The things that Laios does not do.

Laios doesn't deliberately expose Chilchuck to danger or regard him as expendable. When Chilchuck starts to get enthralled by the sirens' song, Laios immediately snaps him out of it. Contrast that to Chilchuck relating that other adventuring parties will sometimes bring half-foots along just to sacrifice them or use them as bait!

Laios doesn't insist that Chilchuck put himself in danger by getting into combat. Even in situations where they're in danger and could really use more combatants, he only ever asks Chilchuck to take on non-combat tasks such as creating distractions.

Laios doesn't get in the way when Chilchuck is working and follows his directives of what to do around traps. He respects Chilchuck's work so much that he will even hand over his sword without hesitation, even when doing such a thing causes it to be damaged!

Laios doesn't press Chilchuck to divulge private information. When Chilchuck says he doesn't mix his professional and private lives, Laios respects that and doesn't push.

All the other party members infringe on these boundaries in some way. Izutsumi tries to egg Chilchuck into combat; Marcille pries into his home life; Senshi deliberately provokes him when he's trying to work. Not Laios. Once Chilchuck sets a boundary, Laios does his best to always respect it. (And I think Laios appreciates having clearly defined Rules For Chilchuck.)

Laios is a good party leader and he takes care of his team. Maybe this is my age showing, but when you find yourself in a good work situation with a good boss, you stay in that job.

[lindwurmkai]

i mean ... i guess?? that's a pretty rare situation though - if my relatives were that awful, i would absolutely protect my child from them by cutting off contact unless they were directly financially supporting me or something. and in that case, these would be special rules applying only to those relatives "because you know how grandma is, after all" rather than something presented as a general "this is how one reacts to receiving presents" thing.

there are multiple phrases in those additions above indicating they're intended as general advice rather than just for parents with abusive relatives who cannot feasibly prevent them from interacting with their kids. it is phrased as if this were something every kid had to learn.

and i just think if you're going to recommend such mindfuckery to anyone, there should at the very least be a disclaimer to only do it if absolutely necessary, and that you should explain to the kids, once they're old enough to understand, that it's not some universal rule.

but i very much get the impression is is being treated as a universal rule and not seen as mindfuckery at all. 🙃

"Look at this video of a child disappointed at their expensive gift! Children are so spoiled these days!"

That's cool. So, why did their parents upload their small child being upset online? In a public video, shared to the entire video? Why did they even save the recording?

Like. The kid in that scenario could be saying the most entitled nonsense in the world, and if their parents post it online to be publicly shamed, I'd still support the kid 100%. Thinking your child's life is a toy to exploit freely for #content is "spoiled"; when faced with mommy vlogers, kids should be demanding three PS5s and a new Bugatti, and we should be applauding them for it

[moonymode]

actually do you ever EVEN think about the connotations of remus's japery during the boggart lesson. snape in mrs. longbottom's clothes. man with magic hiv teaching kids how to defeat the evil fear creature that lives in the literallllll closet. and he says neville would you please put this man who is trying to out my socially loaded condition with all of its various implications, in DRAG. yes thank you, for the class :)

[glitchdecay]

okay hear me out.

if Gladio's signature 'mon is Aegislash (one of my top 10 favorites and has the signature move King's Shield, which makes this non-negotiable),

every other Chocobro MUST ALSO have a Steel-type 'mon (because Insomnia is technologically advanced and Steel-types are objectively cool even if some of them are butt ugly imo)

I propose Empoleon for Noct (that was a Prinplup for the longest time because Noct took a hella long time to develop into a proper king himself);

and Togedemaru for Prompto (because it reminds me of kid!Prompto, and also because it learns Pin Missile, which is basically his Trigger-Happy technique, by leveling up in S/M/US/UM);

but I'm split between Lucario or Metagross for Ignis. I was leaning towards Metagross a) to give everyone a Steel-type 'mon from a different gen and b) because it's extremely intelligent, but Lucario is intelligent too as well as highly empathetic and extremely loyal.

and then i remembered fucking Corviknight. which is just hella cool (and, you know, corvids are also intelligent af) and the color of shiny Corviknight kinda reminds me of the exact color of Ignis's hair lmao. it's also used to carry taxis in the region it's from, which ties into his driving everyone around...

but you know what, Corviknight being a Galar-native Pokémon will kinda feed into British Ignis (which is not my intention at all). and Lucario has this massive Anubis theme that's really not Ignis either... Metagross it is, then!

[sangrefae]

kissing this addition directly on the mouth (platonically) bc it really highlights every issue i have w kbms as it is in the general fandom sphere

ngl it's kind of sad when people say "can't wait for mithrun to show up in the anime and people realize the SUPERIOR kabru ship" as if that's the most important draw of his character and not the incredible portrayal of disability/addiction through his arc like. please

[deconstructthesoup]

One thing I absolutely adore about Dead Boy Detectives is the immaculate costume design. Specifically, how it perfectly encapsulates who the characters are, both as a whole and who they are in the moment.

From the very first scene of the show, we know immediately that Edwin is a bookish, somewhat stuffy guy from the Edwardian era who attended a boarding school, and Charles is a punk from the 1980's who's most likely the wildcard between the two of them, just going off of the way that they're dressed. Both of them have distinct color schemes and different styles, but the general shape of their outfits is actually relatively similar---both of them have collared shirts (Edwin's dress shirt, Charles's polo), something over those shirts (Edwin's vest, Charles's suspenders), a jacket of some kind (Edwin's suit jacket, Charles's flannel thing), a longer overcoat (Edwin's traveling coat, Charles's peacoat), something around the neck (Edwin's bowtie, Charles's necklace), slacks, and nice shoes. They're distinct, yet matching, two clearly defined separate characters yet part of a set.

Edwin's prim, proper, buttoned-up personality lends itself to the way he dresses throughout the season---in the first episode, he only dresses down when he's in the office with Charles, aka his safe place and his safe person, and he doesn't really dress down like that again for a good long while after getting stuck in Port Townsend (though, if my memory serves me correctly, he does take off the suit jacket while watching TV with Niko). But in episode six, he's changed up his usual look for a cozier, casual-looking sweater and a little bit of collarbone, and in episode seven... well, he's in his nightclothes, and he's about as open, raw, and vulnerable as you can get. Edwin's color scheme is also predominately blue, which lines up nicely with his logical and practical, yet deeply sad and closed off personality, and the only time he really wears anything other than his normal blue-and-brown outfit (willingly, that is) is when he's in that green sweater in episode six. And, uh... all I can say is that it's quite telling how blue and green---or, well, teal---are the main colors of the gay/mlm flag.

Charles, by contrast, dresses down a lot, and that makes a lot of sense when you consider the fact that unlike Edwin, he feels comfortable pretty much anywhere. On any given episode, he goes from wearing his peacoat to just wearing his flannel to ditching the flannel to not even wearing the freaking polo---though, again, the latter is something that only happens when he's in the office with Edwin. Safe space, safe person. And, well, plenty of people have analyzed Charles's polo shirt going from red to burgundy to black over the course of the series, and there being a little bit of red under the collar of his coat that's only visible when Edwin fixes it, and then it goes back to burgundy, and then it's red again when Edwin's out of Hell... for good reason! It's color symbolism at its finest! Not to mention, the red and black not only perfectly contrasts Edwin's color scheme, but it also lines up with Charles's personality---he's a rebel, he's hotheaded, he's bold and brash and loud... and yes, he's angry, but he's also so, so loving.

When we first meet Crystal after she loses her memories, her outfit choices feel very deliberate. They're stylish and vaguely trendy, they're arty and a little bit witchy---pretty fitting for a psychic who's also a showbiz kid, even if she doesn't know that last part. But all of her clothes appear thrifted, or at the very least vintage, and the patterns and the general vibe all feel natural and comforting. Her makeup's always fairly simple, her hair's either down or up in a couple of cute space buns... overall, this Crystal looks like the kind of person who'd make you tea when you're in a bad mood, who'll listen when you just need to vent, and who may not always know the right thing to say but will understand what you're going through. But when we see her in the flashbacks, her clothing's flashy and prioritizes high-end trends over comfort, she's either got her hair up or has it straightened, and she not only has dramatic makeup, but acrylics. This is a girl who talks shit about you behind your back, who's bitter and cynical and wants everyone to feel the same way, who makes up for the lack of love and stability in her life via material things. It's also worth noting that Crystal's color scheme has a lot of purple, which is a color that connects to wealth and luxury, but also creativity and magic---which, yeah, fits her two conflicting sides pretty damn well.

You cannot talk about Niko Sasaki without talking about her outfits, and the meaning behind each of them has already been talked about at length. However, one thing that really stands out to me is that the reason they're so iconic isn't just because of the monochrome color schemes, but because they're out there. They're weird, they're eclectic, they're a little mismatched in style sometimes, and they're so unapologetically her. Niko wears heart-shaped sunglasses, unironically. Everything about the way she dresses speaks to how, even though she's a recovering shut-in who initially doesn't want to be perceived, she's still very sure of who she is.

Jenny's design, like Charles and Edwin's, is a design that gives you the key information you need the minute she first appears onscreen. The dark makeup, the silver jewelry, the leather apron, and the hairstyle all point to a person who's tough, doesn't take anyone's shit, and has long since given up on caring what other people think---in other words, she's a badass. But the butterfly tattoo hints at a softer side, a side that we see time and time again throughout the series as she shows that she cares about Crystal and Niko, and even the boys... eventually. Also, Jenny's design is perhaps one of the most clearly queer-coded in the series, to the point where her being a confirmed lesbian is pretty much a no-brainer.

Esther's design oozes camp, from top to bottom. The fluffy coat, the bustier, the boots and the cane and the everything, speak to a woman who's kept with the times and yet has seen it all. There's really not a lot I can fully say about her design, other than what Charles has already said: "She looks like a witch... like, kind of a sexy witch, who smokes a lot." (Or maybe I'm just tired and running out of steam at this point, idk, I love Esther's design and I can't really put it into words.) It's also pretty fitting that her color scheme has a lot of yellow in it---after all, she's always striving for more, so what better color for her than the color of gold?

Everything about the Night Nurse's design speaks to a woman who follows rules and discipline above all else, from the pantsuit to the pinned-up hairstyles to the tie to the heels. She's also the most muted out of the main cast in terms of color, dressing mostly in browns, dull greens, and duller browns---and while I don't have a lot to go into detail about there, I feel like that's kind of a symbol of her narrow-minded and bureaucratic worldview.

And the animal characters... Jesus Christ, I fully forget that they're all being played by human actors. Tragic Mick dresses like a man who's always spent his life by the sea, layered denim and all, and it's never a stretch to see this sad, bushy-bearded, baggy-clothed fisherman and imagine him as a walrus lounging on a beach. Monty, at first glance, seems to only wear black, which would be perfectly fitting for a crow, but when he's in better lighting, you see that he dresses in layers of red and blue, calling to how he envies Charles and Edwin and clearly longs for something more---and this might just be me, but I think that even though his outfits seem fairly normal at first glance, they feel kind of like a costume for Monty more than anything else, like he's trying to emulate a teenager that he's seen on TV more than someone in real life.

The Cat King fits this just as well, with all of his outfits aligning perfectly with whatever his cat form is at the time---when he's a fluffy ginger, it's always sequins and fur coats and clothing pieces that are specifically designed to take up space and call attention, and when he's a black shorthair, it's sleek styles and shiny leather and pieces that are designed to cut an intimidating yet more subtle figure. And while I could go into detail about all of those, what really stands out to me is how clearly queer everything is---more than Jenny's alt lesbian attire, more than Esther's campy coat and corset. From the very first scene he's in, he's wearing a skirt, and it looks natural. Nothing about the way the Cat King presents himself is exaggerated, nothing about the way he dresses is played for laughs---he's flamboyant and feminine and flirty, and he looks so fucking hot while he does it. It's gorgeous.

So... yeah, uh, all the awards for the Dead Boy Detectives costume designers!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC When You Are Suddenly Dating a Princess (pt. 2)

[<- part 1]

"What do you mean-" Jason starts, but the girl is already tapping her ear briefly - and only now does he notice a tiny comm there. Fuck, he should have known.

"Oscar? I changed my mind, I want to claim something," Jazz says easily, and, after a short pause, "A Tecpatl, the one with the owl. No, it's for personal reasons- You don't have to, but alright." She taps her ear again, and Jason can't help but ask:

"Who's Oscar?" He is not jealous. He is just insanely curious and very confused.

"My bodyguard," Jazz rolls her eyes, "At least he thinks he is. I'd say he is more of a secretary."

That doesn't really explain anything. It actually just adds even more questions - what kind of a magic user needs a bodyguard? or a secretary, for that matter? - but Jason keeps them to himself for now. He is... kind of intrigued now. Jazz said 'claim', not 'buy'. Which might be just a weird word choice, but somehow, Jason thinks it was deliberate.

A bald, black-skinned guy in a black suit and sunglasses - which, seriously, how does he even see a thing in here with those on - makes his way through the crowd and stops in front of Jazz, nodding slightly to her.

"Lady Phantom, I understand you want to make an impression, but using your status for personal matters-"

"Did I ask for your opinion, Oscar?" Jazz's voice doesn't change. It's still pleasant and sweet, and she is still smiling, if just a bit, but there's an unmistakable steel edge to her tone now. Jason feels a light shiver run down his spine. He's seen Jazz in a lot of different situations and circumstances; he's seen her get mad at a librarian who banned some controversial books in the public library, and he's seen her skillfully take down an armed robbery in a shop all by herself, and he's even seen her successfully stare down Killer Croc on one occasion.

Yet, he's never seen her like this, with her chin raised up high and radiating authority like she is the most powerful person in the room.

Also, Lady Phantom?..

"No," Oscar admits after a pause and presses his lips together, "But the Council of Ancients will not be pleased."

"Council of Ancients couldn't care less even if I declared war," Jazz brushes the comment off, and Jason's levels of confusion are growing higher and higher with every word they exchange. Oscar sighs and finally complies:

"Very well, then," he breathes out with a sense of surrender, and then turns his head to Jason just slightly, "Is this an urgent matter, or should I go talk to the auctioneer and the sellers?"

Jazz looks to Jason, raising her eyebrows in question. And, technically, it's not that much of a time crunch now since Jason doesn't have to try and sneak through the security or wait for the auction to start officially. But he feels a bit petty. Also, this man was questioning his girlfriend, which is offensive on many levels in Jason's opinion.

So, he nods, "Urgent."

Oscar's face doesn't change one bit, but Jason has plenty of experience with emotionally inept men who look like they are eternally constipated. He can see the traces of exasperation in Oscar's shoulders.

"Follow me, then," he tells them both, and turns around, headed to the back of the auction rooms. There's security there, but Oscar only shows them some kind of a badge, and they step aside, letting the three of them through. As far as Jason knows, no FBI or CIA agents should have that kind of clearance.

Which finally prompts him to ask the most important question as soon as the doors behind them close and it's only them three going through an empty hallway.

"Who are you?" He asks Jazz, who is still keeping her hand on his elbow. The girl hums, not looking at him, and keeps walking after Oscar.

"Jasmine Fenton," she answers, and, yes, he knows that much. He's seen the files Bruce has on her, but at this point, he is not even sure how much of the info in there was actually true.

"You are in the presence of Jasmine Fenton, Lady of the House Phantom, Princess of Infinite Realms and sister to a King," Oscar supplies, and his voice is... a bit petty. Like he knows Jazz didn't want him to say anything, but he still did just because he could.

Jazz huffs and rolls her eyes, "Yes, that, too."

Jason blinks.

He's heard about Infinite Realms. Mostly rumors through the grapevine of Leaguers, but also from Diana personally - he remembers her saying she is glad about having a truce with them. He didn't listen much since she explained it as the Underworld, the Land of the Dead, so he thought she was talking about some mythology shit. Turns out it wasn't.

But there's a more important thing.

"I'm dating a princess," he says to no one in particular as they come to a stop in front of one of the doors.

"Technically, you'll be treated as my consort if you ever decide to visit," Jazz admits, and Jason is officially out of surprised responses. There's only a limited amount of bafflement he can feel in a day, and he has exhausted the resources.

He is a royal consort of the Underworld princess. Sure, why not.

The room they step into after Oscar puts in some code into the lock is filled with boxes, packages, and crates. Jason looks around - sure, he knew all the prettily displayed artifacts back in the auction room were only replicas, but he didn't expect the originals to be literally just stacked in piles in the back room. Yet, here they are.

Oscar looks around the room and confidently makes his way to one of the shelves on the side, quickly going through the labels on the containers.

"Do you have, like, a crown?" Jason asks because he sucks at small talk. Also because he doesn't know what else he is supposed to ask in this kind of situation. Jazz snorts and leans to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Not really. Danny has one, and it looks absolutely badass, with flames on top of it, like the ones you would see in cartoons. I have some tiaras and stuff, but they are just jewelry," she explains, and Jason nods sagely. Just jewelry, alright. Seems like he is simply destined to be surrounded by rich people from all sides.

"How about a castle?"

This gets a sigh out of Jazz, "We used Pariah's - that's the previous King - old one for the coronation ceremony, but mostly, it's just for storage. Both Danny and I live on Earth, and Dani, our little sister, travels a lot. So, I do, and I don't at the same time."

"What about-" Jason starts, but he is cut off by Oscar all but shoving a small box in his hands, "Oh. Do I-" he turns to his girlfriend awkwardly, "Do I have to pay you for it or..."

"No, it's from a dead civilization," she raises her head back and shakes it slightly, but after seeing Jason's frown, she elaborates, "I'm the Princess of the Dead. I can officially claim anything that belongs to the dead as mine."

"It's a law that is supposed to resolve any possible conflicts between the denizens of Infinite Realms and the living," Oscar supplies, his voice disapproving. Alright, makes sense why he said it was not for personal matters, then. Not that it's going to stop Jason, though.

"Like, anything?" He punctuates, and Jazz tilts her head, a sly smile on her lips.

"Sure."

"Lady Phantom," Oscar sighs, tired and chastising, but Jason doesn't plan on robbing the auction. At least not robbing it any more than they already did.

He has a different idea.

"Can you ask Batman for the Robin's suit he has in his cave?"

Jazz blinks, and then her smile turns into a full-on grin.

"Of course."

------------

@akuworld777

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

[writerpeach]

Studious Seduction

Oh My Girl Arin x m! reader

10k words

Thanks to @i-am-lifeform24 for help with editing

Part One | Part Two

---

Read on AO3

"This seems like a bad idea, Miss Choi."

"It's a terrible idea, professor. Which is why we're doing it." 

Without a doubt, there’s very little chance that you won’t be spotted here. Heading up a stairwell that leads up to who knows where is hardly ideal, especially with the sudden rain shower that's started to pour above, foreshadowing this bad decision made in tandem. 

Yet, you’ve never been one to make the best choices. An inappropriate relationship with one of your students has to be ranked at the top of the list, wrong for a myriad of reasons—all that could get you fired. Still, it somehow continues unimpeded, knowing the risks, both of you doubling down even. 

At this point, you’re not sure if you’re a bad influence on Arin, or if she’s a bad influence on you. 

To make matters worse, today’s outfit of choice is this poor excuse for a school uniform that draws all your attention. A risky little ensemble that consists of a white shirt and black tie combo that only pretends to be proper, covering very little of her midriff, as well as this dark little pleated miniskirt so short it might as well not exist for how little of her thighs it hides. It leaves more of her creamy skin uncovered, and being her professor, you know it's not appropriate to look—yet you can’t stop yourself from doing so anyways. 

And then there’s those dark frames on her face, the cherry on top that puts this whole thing together, that takes her from an innocent, responsible student more than invested in class, to this devilish vixen who struts into your office, demanding to be ruined, never taking no for an answer. 

There’s almost no room for imagination, offering you such an obscene view when Arin heads up the stairs, purposefully walking in front of you with slow, deliberate steps. You can see the shape of her perfectly round butt cheeks exposed, her tight fitting thong doing anything but covering up delicious pale flesh. Of course, she knows exactly where your line of sight goes when you walk behind her, making an effort to shake her wide hips a little more with each step, giving you a shameless view of her tight, succulent ass.

This outfit is every dress code violation she could possibly make rolled into one. 

But who's going to admonish her? You? Who can't even think logically at the moment when all your thoughts have turned to mush? Not a chance when all you want to do is slip your hand between her thighs too delicious to resist until she makes a mess on your fingers, the floor, and anywhere else that becomes collateral damage.

Right now, you have the perfect opportunity for exactly that. You’ve lost track of how many steps you’ve walked, but eventually, the stairwell comes to an end, with a set of metal double doors that leads up to the rooftop. As good a place as any other, you think, especially when there's little reason anyone else would want to venture towards the top level during this never-ending rainstorm.

“Here?” you question, when Arin presses your back against the cold wall just underneath the final level of the stairwell. A solitary gaze into her eyes is all you get before she wraps her hands around your neck and plants a heated, sloppy kiss on your lips. She nods in affirmation, but doesn’t give you the time to catch your breath, slipping her tongue into your mouth to make an attempt to taste all of you.

“It's really open here. Pretty easy to get caught," you tell her when she moves from your lips, placing wet kisses across your jawline, moving lower down to your neck. 

"That's the point, professor." Arin places your hands firmly around her waist, leading you exactly where she wants your touch. Her legs spread a little further apart so you can push her skirt up, revealing just how tiny of a thong she's wearing. "I don't care if we get caught. Make a mess of me—" 

She sighs when your fingertips press against her clothed core, so aroused you can already feel her slick leaking through the flimsy fabric. You add more pressure in response, rewarded with Arin's soft gasps against the sensitive skin of your neck.

"We could get in a lot of trouble, Yewon," you breathe out, barely paying attention to anything beyond this. In fact, you hardly care about what could go wrong either, so consumed with lust, one singular desire that Arin shares, and your fingertips ache to slip underneath these panties and sink right in. 

"When has that ever stopped us before?" 

She has a point. 

This is risky as it gets. And that’s what makes it all more exciting. 

Without wasting any more time, you slip a finger underneath the fabric of her panties, into her ridiculously warm cunt. A second one slides in right after, and soaked as she already is, barely puts up any resistance, the entrance of her tight little hole eagerly swallowing you up.

“Professor—“

A few strokes is all you manage before Arin throws her head back in delight, rolling her hips, moaning from nothing more but your fingers slowly pumping in and out of her needy cunt. 

Arin clings to your shoulder as the tempo picks up, her other hand quickly traveling down your torso until it reaches your pants. She finds the button to your slacks right away, unzipping them to slip a hand inside your boxers. You let out a groan when she runs a gentle hand along the length of your shaft, slow and teasing—until she wraps her entire hand around it and grips you tight.

“Yewon..." A wave of pleasure rushes through your whole body. She's stroking your cock with such a perfect grip, slender fingers reaching down to fondle your balls, eager for what they’ve stored up just for her. Meanwhile, the sounds that come from her own throat as she rides your fingers become a necessary distraction, urging you to thrust into her a little faster, a little rougher— 

"How many loads are you going to give me today, professor? I hope they're all as thick as they were yesterday—"

It's rather ridiculous, the things you hear come out of Arin's mouth. The demure looking girl in the front row, raising her hand up high, blushing just at the sight of you, now says the filthiest things when she's got her mouth on your earlobe and her pussy filled with your fingers. She's every bit the opposite of an exemplary student, but you suppose that's your fault, given you're the one who's trading straight A's for the roughest, raunchiest sex that almost always ends up with you finishing inside her. 

But the way Arin sounds when she moans directly in your ear, riding your fingers so selfishly while they stay buried inside her cunt, it makes you forget all that. None of that matters. All that does is satisfying her needs and yours, and you won't stop until she's absolutely drenched your fingers, even if it ruins that pathetic pair of panties. 

"Don't stop, professor. I'm so close…"

She's lost all inhibitions in her frantic desire to keep rocking her hips hard against your fingers. You can feel the tension about to snap, her walls squeezing the life out of your slick digits—all while she tries to keep a steady rhythm in her own pumping, giving your cock a good squeeze each time your fingers plunge to the hilt.

"Professor, please, don’t stop, don’t stop—" Arin’s breathing grows unsteady, heavy, and she gasps for air between every syllable that escapes her lips. You’ll do everything to oblige her, steadily thrusting, curling your fingers to find that sweet spot that gets her to moan the loudest until she lets go of your cock, clinging her entire weight onto you.

"You're gonna make me fucking cum—"

Nothing gets said in response, obeying Arin’s pleas, an uninterrupted stream of juices beginning to coat your fingers while she lets out one continuous moan, unable to speak coherently upon climax. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she nearly draws blood before the wetness gushes down your fingers, rendering her panties useless, completely ruined with all this sticky arousal.

Her walls flutter around you, this explosive orgasm lasting far longer than you expect—but you don’t let up, pumping away as she spills more, riding this out until it turns into a second one shortly after. And when you press your thumb firmly against her clit, right as she starts to come down from her high, the violent trembles in her body repeat, sending her over the edge a third time, forcing her body to shake against yours, another loud, shameless moan spilling out of her in overstimulation. 

It's a wonder how the rest of campus hasn’t heard the screams echoing all the way down the staircase. Were it not for the rain pouring overhead drowning out her cries of pleasure, it would be near impossible for anyone passing by to not hear a thing. So you’re blessed by the rains, both above, and between Arin’s sticky thighs. 

After it’s all said and done, she can hardly support her own weight when the sensation of your fingers inside her becomes too much for her oversensitive cunt, Arin’s sweaty frame nearly toppling over as she breathes heavily. Good thing you're right here to do what she temporarily can’t, clinging to your body, your hard cock still poking against her as you keep her upright amidst these intense aftershocks. 

"That was, fuck—you've really outdone yourself, professor. I can hardly stand."

When you pull your fingers out, you can’t hide the smirk that spreads across your face with all this slick clinging to your fingertips as she leans on your body to take a breath. The praise washes over you while Arin unexpectedly grabs your wrist, bringing your soaked fingers, all the way up to her lips to fervently suck the delicious liquid off. 

You intently watch her lick herself off you, tongue lewdly swirling around the length of each wet digit, making an effort to swallow all of her mess. Her lips glisten with spit and wetness, a ravenous look in her bespectacled eyes as she cleans whatever she can, tasting every drop of her delicious essence, staring at you seductively until nothing is left. 

"Guess I don't need these anymore," Arin says after a pause, gradually recovering as she peels her drenched thong down her legs, letting it drop to her ankles before she slips it off, stuffing it into your front pocket. A cute little smile later, and she looks more than eager for what's next, unable to tear her gaze away from how hard you’ve been left thanks to her. 

"I should finish what I started, don't you think, professor?" 

You don't even get to answer when Arin drops to her knees on the cold floor, tugging your pants and boxers further down, freeing your cock that so desperately needs it—so desperately needs her. With a cute, light giggle, she spits onto your swollen shaft, pumping the entire length with her delicate fingers, a low moan rising in your throat as she pays extra attention to the underside where she knows you're the most sensitive.

Her slender fingers work up the length of your cock, coming back down with a grip so wonderfully tight. She’s so ready, so eager to have her soft lips around it already. You can practically see her salivating when she leans in a little closer to lap her tongue around your cock in one long, lazy lick, pressing her lips into a light kiss on the tip of your shaft. 

“Yewon—“

You can’t hold in a grunt when Arin rubs your tip against her mouth, not opening up enough to take you whole yet, instead tracing her full, soft lips over your needy cockhead. 

“Don’t you worry, professor. Gonna make you feel so good. I promise.” 

The anticipation explodes all at once as she parts her lips, slipping the entire head of your cock inside. The moment her wet mouth makes contact with your shaft, you groan at the sudden warmth, a sharp contrast from her icy cold hands. She takes more of your length down, hollowing her cheeks, keeping an intense, erotic gaze while slowly bobbing her head up and down. 

"Mhmph—" Her warm breath sends shivers down your spine as her lips slip further and further down, the tip of her tongue flicking against what hasn’t disappeared into her mouth. You can’t help but let out all types of unabashed moans while she guides more of you inside, spit dripping down to your balls as she slides deeper, until nothing of you is left to swallow up, the head of your cock hitting the back of her tight throat with ease. 

"Yewon, fuck,” you say, nearly breathless, and the way Arin looks up at you with her mouth so proudly sealed around every inch—there’s nothing better. “I'll never get enough of your pretty fucking mouth.” 

Arin hums against the length of your shaft at your praise, working more of her magic on you, lips getting down so devastatingly deep against your base. She’s oh so eager, so unwaveringly committed to covering every single inch in saliva. Her hot little mouth slides down effortlessly, bobbing her head back, each stroke just a bit sloppier, a little wetter than the one before, with zero intention of giving you a chance to gather yourself.

“Nobody gives a blowjob like I do, right, professor? Nobody can make you cum as hard as I can. I love being on my knees for you so much, being a good little slut for my professor. That’s what I am, aren't I?"

Nodding your head is all you can do, breath heavy in disbelief of how good this oral assault is, the enthusiasm on display really proving how much Arin enjoys having your cock shoved down her wet, inviting throat. 

You’d sacrifice your entire livelihood for a blowjob like this. 

It’s quite simple to lose track of how many times her talented mouth takes your entire length down, so good at pleasuring you it's impossible to find words. The way her wet tongue flicks against your slit when she slides off, only to have you plunging all the way back into the heat of her throat—it's far, far too good.

"I want you to cum on my face, professor," Arin tells you, so casually as she pulls away for a brief second before going right back to licking up the length of your hard cock, spitting all the excess saliva over the rest of you. Then she’s back to placing hungry wet kisses against each inch, her tongue making a slick path before she gives the leaking slit of your cock another teasing, torturous swirl. "I want all of it."

At this rate, you think you could blow a load anywhere she wanted you to, already so close to bursting just at her tongue lavishing your cock with these feverish licks. She has this way of making you feel so special, like worshiping your cock is all that matters to her, your pleasure the most important aspect in her life. Her greedy mouth proves just that, making you groan so easily, especially when she dips down to pay attention to your balls and slurps so messily on them like she wants your load at any cost. 

A few lazy licks down your sack and you’re back down her throat—just trapped there helplessly as she holds you, her pretty mouth so goddamn overwhelming when she swallows as much of your length as she possibly can, not showing even the slightest hint of strain. Her full lips stay motionless when they slide right down to your base, gaze locked tight, making your cock throb within her tight, wet throat. 

“Stay there, Yewon, shit,” you groan, hands clutching her head against your crotch to speed up the path to climax. Each second she remains there feels like absolute heaven, fostering all this unbearable bliss, all while those doe eyes speak for her when her mouth can’t—impatiently waiting, desperately wanting to empty your balls. 

When she releases her lips from your length, there’s a sexy little gasp that comes with the messy string of saliva pulling her back down. Repeating the act, she plunges right back down, nose nestling comfortably against your abdomen, lips wrapped entirely around the base of your length. “Yewon, god, you know what’s gonna happen if you keep doing that.“ 

"Oh, you’re gonna cum? Want you to paint my pretty face. Don’t you, professor?” 

There’s no answer to offer other than what she wants, all thoughts drowned by another wet slurp when Arin once again takes every inch of you down her throat, the overwhelming warmth of her mouth suffocating your length. Then she rises, exposing your shaft to the cool air for only a moment until her throat tightens when you’re back down, fully sheathed. 

Arin’s so dedicated to hearing you moan that these steadfast strokes show no relent, slurping from base to tip, hair all a mess as she bobs faster and faster, maintaining never-ending eye contact that’ll be the death of you.

“Need it. Need it so bad, your hot cum dripping down my face when I walk back down these stairs. Can’t wait to feel how thick and heavy a load you’ll give me.” 

Her pace only begins to go into overdrive, picking up rampantly when Arin places her hands on your thighs for better stability, the hot slickness of her mouth far too much to handle. She takes every inch, all of you disappearing down, without needing to stop to take a breath, like she’s proving a point at how good she can get you off. There's no restraint as she bobs her head without inhibitions, sloppily, noisily, not even gagging when her throat delivers an unimaginable level of pleasure. 

"Oh my god, Yewon, fuck—"

With each desperate stroke, you're so close to that edge, quickly approaching the inevitable. The tightness in your balls grows beyond your control, and there’s no time to think straight when her mouth feels this fucking good, almost there, absolutely about to—

"I'm gonna fucking cum, Yewon," you groan out just in time, with no qualms about how needy you sound. One last slow descent down to your base, then Arin pops your needy shaft from her mouth right when it seems you’re about to burst any second. 

And looking as salacious as possible, she simply tilts her head slightly backwards, jerking you off while directing the tip of your cock straight at her face, eagerly anticipating the release that's about to cover her.

“Cum all over me, professor.” 

You let out a strained, guttural moan the moment your first pearlescent stream shoots out, streaking across the bridge of her nose. These frantic strokes don’t let up, guiding your milky seed that unloads onto the perfect target—her glasses, coating the lenses in white and getting it all over her rosy cheeks. Another strand fires off as she shifts your cock downwards, a thick stream blasting across her parted lips that deserve so much of this load for helping you reach an explosive release. 

She pumps, and pumps, until there’s nothing left, and by the time your orgasm winds down, Arin is a total mess, one you’ll never get tired of seeing your load plastered all over her. Her stunning features wear you like a proud smile, drenched in her handiwork, thick streaks that cling to her cheeks, those soft lips, and anywhere else it happens to land as she strokes your length to ensure not a drop goes to waste. 

That look is all too familiar when the weight of your load starts to drip down, an orgasmic feeling that brings a grin onto her cum-stained face.

“That’s a big load, professor. Just what I wanted," she says as she removes her stained glasses, taking a nice, long lick right over the lens and making a show of the entire thing. "I think I'm obsessed. With your cum. It tastes so good, but looks better on my face."

"Yewon—you're ridiculous, you know that?" you tell her as she carefully slips the glasses back on, and wipes up whatever has run off to the corners of her lips, bringing her sticky fingers into her own mouth to slurp them clean.

"It's not my fault my professor's cum tastes so good."

But before she can even begin to clean off your cock, or savor what an absolute mess she’s covered in, the sound of footsteps nearby force her to stop mid-stroke, causing both your heads to turn with a shared look of panic. There's only enough time to tuck yourself back into your pants, but there's nothing to do at all about this massive load that's dripping all over Arin, nor what’s done a number on the stairwell. 

"Get behind me, Yewon. Quick."

Arin nods and does as you say, scrambling to her feet, also making sure her thong is still tucked away into your pocket as you zip your pants up. The sounds of footsteps echo louder, yet there's only one real way to escape this stairwell, because you're not going out that door when the rain hasn't let up one bit. 

When the moment those footsteps approach the stairwell entrance, they slow to a halt, making your heart beat faster. Arin moves fast enough to get behind you just in time, out of sight and behind your broad frame. And the two of you wait there, her body pressed against yours, trying to hold her breath, dreading to explain yourself to whoever just made this abrupt end to your fun. 

"Professor? Is that you?" The voice sounds so familiar, but you can't quite pick it out, too muffled by the rain. But there's no doubt you've heard this voice before. It's certainly one of your students, so at least you won’t have to explain this to a faculty member. "What a surprise, seeing you here!"

Normally, you'd have all the time in the world for pleasantries and small talk, but this is the last place where you can do anything of the sort as you try to shield Arin. From who exactly, you have no idea as they walk into frame. Their name escapes you, not that you really care when all you want is to get out of this situation. 

"Is something the matter, professor? Why are you standing there?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. I had some time between classes and came up here to check out the rain. It's not letting up is it?" You put on the best smile possible, knowing Arin can't be spotted right behind you. Luckily, your taller frame can block her body completely, and given how the area is poorly lit, there isn't much worry about the mess that's on her face at the very least.

"No, it isn't. We don't usually get so much rain this time of year, huh?" The unnamed student asks as she glances out the window, and for a brief second you fear the worst—but she doesn't seem to notice anything at all that shouldn't be there. "I didn't even bring an umbrella today either..."

"You might check the library, they'll have them."

"The library?"

"They used to offer some a few months back, but I guess everyone forgot. I'm sure they still have a few left."

"I might give that a try then, thanks. It's good to see you, professor." 

When your student smiles and waves goodbye, heading back the stairs without another word, you're able to finally breathe a huge sigh of relief, knowing the ordeal is finally over, despite taking years off your life. "Jesus, Yewon."

"That was close.” Her own breath stays ragged and heavy, almost completely forgetful to the mess you've left on her face that still glistens. "Good save. Really pulled that umbrella story out of thin air, didn’t you?” 

“Whatever it takes. Hey, they might have umbrellas. I’ve never gone there except to rail you.” 

Arin laughs, then suddenly remembers she still has your filth all over her. “Better go clean up I guess..."

"This was a really terrible idea."

"Hey, this was my terrible idea," Arin corrects with a grin that manages to shine through all the mess. "And I don’t hear you complaining about me giving you a nice, sloppy blowjob, professor.” 

“I could never complain about seeing my favorite student on her knees.” 

“I'll go on ahead. Maybe I'll see you later? For office hours?"

You say nothing more as you let her pass you to head down the stairs first, standing here a bit longer for your heart rate to calm before you too make your exit. You've got a class in under an hour that you haven't prepared for, and now how could you, coming so close from potentially losing your job. But yet, somehow, through all that, Arin was right—the rush of getting caught is exhilarating, but that was far too close for comfort. 

✦ ✦

So after all that, logic would dictate that you should be a little more careful, that maybe you should stop having sex with your student in places you're bound to get caught—but logic went out the window the moment you bent Arin over your desk for the very first time. What else are you going to do though, take her home to your apartment where there's actual privacy, where you don't have to keep quiet?

That sounds so very drab and mundane, and you'd rather spend another ten hours grading papers than go the proper route. You don't even know what you would do if you wound up in Arin's bedsheets, having all the freedom to rail her for hours instead of the thrill of being in public where you have to be quick and quiet.

There's nothing wrong or unhealthy with this relationship. Not one bit. 

You've told yourself on multiple occasions that you should dial it down a notch, not meet quite so often, or at least not in places that will put your career at risk. After all, your luck is going to run out one of these days, and the day could very well come when more than just a student catches the two of you, maybe one of the other professors, or god forbid the university staff. 

And then it's all over for both of you. 

Yet, there isn't a day when you don't seek each other out, find some empty closet, a vacant faculty office, or that spot near the back of the library that's so dusty that no one frequents. 

The risk is almost as good as being balls deep inside Arin itself. 

You can't exactly help yourself when she wears these slutty little outfits that practically beg you to rip them off her, nothing but the shortest skirts imaginable to class, where you have to stop your eyes from wandering throughout the entirety of the lecture. 

Arin sits in the front row for a reason, and that's not to get a better view of the whiteboard. No, it's so she can spread her legs open when no one's paying attention, flash whatever sexy pair of panties she has underneath (or the lack thereof on occasion), and sometimes even play with herself so she can show off how wet she is. 

Somehow, no one's really noticed how often you have her in your office, where there's less talk about class going on, and more your head buried between her thighs, or having her bent over your desk in some obscene position with her mouth stuffed by her ruined underwear and screaming through it.

With everything that’s transpired today, one would think you’d call it early and pack up. Not you though. Not even an hour has gone by since your close call, and Arin is in your office again, sucking you off underneath your desk while you work on grading papers—at least you should be, if only you could focus for more than a few seconds without this warm mouth slobbering on your cock. 

"I bet none of your other students can deepthroat you as good as I can."

"You said you were going to be quiet."

"And you said you were going to fuck me, professor."

You haven't exactly broken that promise, it's more like Arin decided she wasn't going to wait until you finished, always finding an excuse to get in her favorite position whenever she wants to suck you off. 

Luckily, for your students, you're going to be in such a tremendous mood after finishing in this girl's hungry mouth. These papers are downright horrendous—so fucking awful and unreadable it makes you wonder if you should intentionally pound Arin in your office with the door wide open, just so you’ll get caught, lose your job, and never have to deal with some of these students ever again.

Not even a few papers in and you’ve lost every ounce of focus, groaning while Arin empties your balls, her mouth right at your base when your spills right down her throat. With your fingers gripping the back of her head, it's impossible to not avoid bucking your hips into her pretty, sloppy mouth as she drains each thick shot from your pulsing cock, swallowing it all with pride to make sure there's not a single trace of your creamy release that hasn't gone directly into her stomach. 

"All those students probably failed anyways," she tells you, letting the saliva fall from her lips as she shows off her empty mouth with a pleased smile, planting a nice, loud wet kiss on your tip before getting back up to her feet.

"Yeah? Including you?"

"Of course not, professor. We both know before you even look at my paper that I've got a perfect grade." 

"Is that so? And what have you done to deserve that, Yewon?" 

Before you've even gotten your pants back on properly, Arin is already claiming a spot on the edge of your desk, undoing her tie so that it hangs loosely around her neck, and then spreads those luscious thighs as wide apart as they can go, her gorgeous, dripping pussy on display without any underwear in the way. "I can think of a few things. Doesn't emptying you down my throat count for something?"

"Hm, I dunno,” you ponder, shamelessly staring between those delectable thighs at what’s all yours. “Maybe a few points. That'll get you a passing grade at best."

"Just a few? What about all the times I've ridden your cock this week alone, professor? And how many times did you cum inside me?"

"I've completely lost track, Yewon. I guess that'll get you at least ten percent higher."

"How generous of you," she retorts, tone all full with playful sarcasm, unbuttoning her white shirt enough so you can see the color of her bra. It's purple, just like the thong in your pocket that serves as a nice trophy. "Are you forgetting how many times I took your thick cock in my ass until you blew your load inside?"

"Does that really count if you beg me to do so every time you step in my office?"

"Oh no, you can't blame me for how much you love my ass, professor. That's at least twenty points."

"That's a little greedy, don't you think?"

"Absolutely not. If anything, I deserve extra for all those times I let you fuck my face," Arin suggests, spreading her legs further apart to give a clearer view of her bare cunt that’s glistening so beautifully, accompanied with a set of fingers teasing herself for your benefit. 

"Again, you're forgetting the part where you keep dropping down to your knees and begging for it."

Arin can't help but smile, both at knowing you're right—and also how you can't take your eyes off the show her fingers put on when she rubs at her clit, getting wet so easily from playing with herself while staring into your eyes. It's the look on your face that drives her crazy and gives her the urge to show off even more, sliding two digits past her swollen lips into her tight hole, so eager to get herself off in front of you. 

"What about now, profess—" she asks before a moan interrupts her words, leaning backwards to prop herself up so you can watch every bit as she fingers herself. "Does this count for anything?"

"It depends. If you can make yourself cum without my help, then maybe, that'll bump up your grade, Yewon."

"Twenty-five. For making myself cum right in your office," she manages between hitched breaths, pumping her fingers deep in and out, almost bucking her hips off the table at her own touch.

"Twenty. You're not there yet, Yewon," you correct, watching Arin roll her head back with her eyes shut, so beautiful when she's in bliss, achingly sexy how her slender fingers disappear knuckle deep into her own cunt. You've barely had any time to recover since emptying your load down her throat just a minute ago, but the mere sight is more than enough to have you as hard as the wooden desk she’s writhing on. 

Arin reaches down to further unbutton her shirt, giving the full glimpse of her breasts covered up in that pretty lace as her tight frame falls back against the cold surface all splayed out. While this shameless girl continues fingering her pussy, you simply enjoy the view, stroking your cock every few seconds to spur her on. Every desperate moan and gasp from her lips gets louder, all that nectar trickling down between her spread thighs you’re dying to lick clean—but you won’t, because she has to do this on her own. 

You let the lack of words exchanged linger in the air while Arin fingers herself a bit rougher, moving a bit more frantic, knowing all the signs from experience that she isn't too far from that much craved release. 

“Professor," Arin breathes out, the quiver in her voice an obvious indication. Her fingers get so drenched, pulling them out from her heat for a moment to reveal how sticky wet they are as she groans, not bothering to hide how she slides them back in to curl right into herself. "Oh god, professor—“ 

When the pleasure becomes too much, when her back arches off the desk with breathless cries, there's no missing the split second Arin's entire body tenses up—thighs quivering, fingers buried so deep you can hear the wetness while she shakes on the desk from the intensity of her orgasm. It's a moment of euphoria that's only reached because you're watching so attentively, eyes glued the entire time as she rides her fingers long past completion, toes curling, moans echoing through your small office.

Even when Arin is finished, she's unable to regain her composure for more than a few ragged breaths, eyes still closed while the bliss hits hard, long after her high. And you savor every second of her looking so beautiful in this post-climax haze, an absolute mess on your desk that you’re thankful hasn't soaked into your papers.

"Fuck, that was too good, professor," Arin murmurs, slowly pulling her fingers out from herself, just to rub her oversensitive clit, borderline crying from the overstimulation. “It’s too bad it wasn’t your cock I came on.” 

"Then maybe I should deduct points for that?"

"Hey, that's not fair… you just told me—I’d get points for making myself cum."

"I did, but—you would have earned extra for waiting for me to do it. Guess you'll just have to earn back those points another way."

"How exactly should I do that, professor?" Arin asks with the best faux ignorance possible, sitting herself up to scoot off the desk, then leaning down to wrap her slick fingers around your shaft. "If you bend me over and pound me with this cock until your cum is leaking inside me, would that be enough?"

"Perhaps. That would certainly help raise your grade some points.” 

"Give it all to me then," she pleads, giving your cock a handful of languid strokes, just enough to leave a nice trail of her slick along the entire length. "Fuck a load into me, professor. Fuck your top student all over this office."

"Top student? Really?" You can't help but laugh at that, knowing full well Arin is certainly anything but. Far from it actually, not even top ten. "Then I better go find her then."

"Hey! Just shut up and give it to me already," Arin says with that pout still intact, keeping these strokes going on your cock that make you throb so easily, and you’re not sure who needs it more at this point. 

"Fine, but not here. I'm tired of this place. Let's go somewhere else."

It's rather late into the afternoon, with the majority of classes for the day having ended already. That leaves enough of the campus vacant, lowering the risk of getting caught wherever you decide to take Arin—but the risk still isn't zero. Wandering around the university after hours isn't the best idea, especially when there are plenty of places for students to hang out, and worse, faculty offices open late.

So you keep it simple. 

You keep several feet ahead of each other, heading up a couple floors to that really small bathroom by the science department that no one ever uses because it doesn't lock properly. There are much bigger and better bathrooms scattered about, so everyone usually forgets this tiny, shabby thing exists, especially late into the day. Not the most romantic spot, but it’s suitable, and keeps you from scouring the halls without having to dodge other faculty and students. 

You enter first, flicking on the light, and do a quick scan around the room while Arin slips in, pulling the door shut as quickly as possible. There's nothing but a toilet, a sink, and a mirror, but most importantly it looks clean, which is the most important thing. It's not that surprising given that nobody really uses it to begin with.

It’s as perfect a place as ever. 

Double checking the lock still doesn't work, nothing has changed on that front. Arin quickly moves to lean against the wall, and she’s already unbuttoning her shirt, all the way this time, to give the full view of those perky breasts without any bra to ruin the view. You're on her in a flash, claiming those lips with a kiss full of nothing but aggression to match just how badly you want to ruin this girl right now.

"Fuck me," Arin urges as she palms your bulge through your pants, impatient to get your cock inside of her. Her fingers fumble with the button to your pants, thoughts clouded with desire, and she’s so eager to release your aching shaft, to give it all the attention it so desperately craves.

You’ve got just a modicum of patience left to not let that happen quite yet.

Instead, with your lips still attached, you pick Arin’s slender frame off the ground, and guide her over to the sink, placing her there as gently as you can. When she settles down on the edge of the counter, there's no hesitation to shove that tiny skirt up past her waist, revealing her absolutely beautiful cunt still left glistening in the aftermath of her orgasm from a moment earlier, and you're just dying to fill her all up. 

Still, somehow you hold back for a moment, to let it all sink in. The sight is divine enough, this privileged student of yours in this rather pathetic excuse for a school uniform, half naked, shirt wide open with her tits fully out, that barely-there skirt, and those sexy thigh highs that bring all the attention to her immaculate thighs that make you want to ruin her even faster. She knows that’s your biggest weakness, knows how weak in the knees they leave you whenever you get to slide them off with your teeth—but now they make her look like pure sin. 

"I know you wanna get that dick in me," she says, voice so sultry, and her thighs spread obscenely wide apart, so that every inch of her mouthwatering cunt is put on display with not a drop of modesty—not like Arin even knows what that word is. 

"Not yet. Haven't gotten to taste you today." As per usual, Arin’s been more than a little greedy, and it feels like she’s had her lips on your cock all day and this is the first opportunity to return the favor. 

Any protest in those pretty eyes doesn't last when her hands wrap around your skull, drawing your face straight between her thighs that you have no trouble diving into. With your lips feasting on her cunt right off the bat, you give Arin all the attention she craves so badly, licking along the length of her slit, all the way up until your tongue starts flicking at her engorged clit. 

"God, so fucking good," Arin breathes out, the silence in the empty bathroom getting cut with all her beautiful moans that ring out. For your efforts, you’re rewarded by her thighs locking around your head, as your lips get a tight seal around her swollen clit that has her grinding that delicious cunt all over your mouth. 

"Professor!" she chokes out, while continuing this harsh grip on the back of your head while you slurp on her clit so mercilessly, every bit hungry to taste all those delicious juices that spill out. "Oh my god, professor, oh fuck!"

Your mouth doesn't quit, because nobody tastes better than Arin. You're an addict, every bit obsessed with this girl's cunt since the first time that you slid between these thighs. There's nothing you love more than this, her taste lingering on your tongue, all while these delicious thighs squeeze around your head, suffocating you perfectly as you eat her out with so much fervor she almost can't handle how good you make her feel.

"My god, Yewon—you taste so fucking delicious," you tell her between long licks, slurping on her clit without restraint to savor every last bit of her soaking cunt. "I can eat your pretty pussy all day. For hours and hours."

"I won't say no to that, professor.” Her desperate hands dig into your scalp to hold your face right there, exactly where she wants, where she needs, gasping when her hips grind down against you. "Fuck, your tongue is so, so good."

This is your favorite part about going down on her, being trapped between those perfect thighs that squeeze and tremble while you sloppily eat her out, drowning in her heavenly aroma and all this nectar, her delicious pussy that tastes even better the longer you indulge. 

It's never enough though, no matter how much time you get to spend with your tongue buried inside her cunt, or how many times she cums all over your face—the taste of her is heaven, and you love turning this girl into nothing more than a whimpering, quivering mess who can’t even think straight. 

"Just like that, professor, fuck, don't stop, oh my god, don't fucking stop, please—“

She whines so freely while grinding down hard against your hungry lips you can hardly breathe. Not that you have any problem about that, because you know exactly where Arin is, can feel those thighs vibrate all around you to know those limits are about to be surpassed, and you don't plan to let up for even a moment.

You ramp up your efforts in devouring her cunt without a moment to rest, your tongue all over her clit, sucking so harshly, so relentlessly, drowning in these delicious juices. It’s obvious how Arin's hips can't stay steady for a second longer, seconds from losing herself entirely. "Professor! Fuck, I'm so fucking close. Keep going, keep—oh fuck, right there, I'm gonna cum so fucking hard, fuck—"

Arin bucks her hips into your face with wild abandon, her juices smearing across your lips when you bring her to the verge of release, until she finally topples over completely. 

Everything goes muffled while she keeps her thighs squeezed tightly around your head, violently trembling throughout her orgasm as you lick her through the entire thing. Like every other time you've brought her over that blissful edge, it's beautiful, turning your face into a mess, and you greedily lap up everything that freely spills into your mouth from her overflowing cunt. 

When those thighs let off and relax, you look up at Arin's blissed out visage, completely enamored in the pleasure, shivering and trembling with a high-pitched squeal as you give her clit one more loud slurp for good measure. Your focus then shifts back to her messy folds, delving deep into them to clean up those juices she's gushing so profusely, a never ending stream of wet, sticky deliciousness. 

"Fuck, your cunt always tastes so amazing," you mutter, lapping at the girl's slick covered thighs, getting out every drop that leaks out with a few soft licks. Arin stays motionless on the counter, looking straight up to the ceiling while her chest heaves, still seeing stars.

After indulging a little while longer, and spending all the time necessary getting those warm thighs mostly clean, there's only one thing left to do. Your mouth pulls away, but only so you can yank your pants down to your ankles, your stiff cock aching to get inside of her. 

"Gonna fucking ruin you, Yewon. Hope you’re ready for me to wreck that tight little cunt."

"When am I not? Please, give it to me already," Arin desperately pleads, pulling herself from her haze to look at the throbbing length you're stroking as her eyes beg you to sink in and fill her up. 

Sitting herself up on the sink, she keeps herself propped up with her hands planted behind her body, spreading her thighs apart as far as possible, with her wet cunt presented so lewdly and invitingly. "Shove that dick right in me, professor. Give it to me as hard as you can."

Without another thought wasted, you slowly guide the swollen tip of your cock past those drenched lower lips, groaning unabashedly when all this slippery warmth welcomes you deep inside. It's far too easy, how you slide into her, walls so dripping with arousal that allow this ache to dissipate when you effortlessly impale Arin all the way, right to the hilt.

"My god, Yewon, fucking love this tight pussy," you groan as her walls clamp down, holding you right inside that delicious grip with no plans to release you. 

She's so soaking wet when you start pounding away inside, each thrust coated in all those messy juices as your cock bottoms out every time. Your deep strokes make full use of her open shirt, causing her modest breasts to bounce as her back hits the mirror with each hard slam. Arin clenches around you with such an unyielding grip as you pump in and out, loving how rough you are, how forceful your hips are, moaning louder and louder, still sensitive from the previous release. 

“And I love being stretched on your huge fucking cock.”

There's not an ounce of mercy in your thrusts, just pure carnal lust taking hold. Her wet folds remain parted, taking the full length of your pounding shaft, every last inch driving into that slick little cunt without restraint. You take advantage of how her legs drape over the sink, grabbing her thighs, spreading them to give you more leverage to angle your thrusts deeper, and she kicks her heels off to give you even more control, allowing you to use her body however you please.

"It feels so good, professor," she says, while each thrust stays rough and deliberate, buried to the hilt in her wetness. "This cock of yours—is so perfect."

"That's because your cunt is made for it," you groan, sweat forming on her skin under your grip as your hips slam against her. It's absolute bliss, watching the way her entire body responds each time you sink in, hearing her soft whines that she’s unable to hold any back while getting fucked so mercilessly over this counter top. "You take my cock so well."

"Of course I do," she insists, the biggest grin on her face that gets interrupted with more moans. "I'm the professor's favorite student, after all."

"But definitely the worst one," you fire back, fingertips digging hard into her bare thighs all wrapped up in these sexy thigh high stockings as they jiggle with every relentless thrust.

"So—how many points is this?" Arin asks, bracing herself against the mirror when you pound into her even harder, every inch of your cock covered in her sweet essence.

"As many as you fucking want, Yewon."

"Then make it a thousand. I can use them on the next assignment, right?"

"Use them on whatever you want, the final exam even. So long as I get to cum inside you."

"Of course, professor. Fill me all the way up. Cum inside me as much as you fucking want," she says, and those tits bounce more hypnotically every time you pick up the pace, slamming deeper with more force each time. After every plunge balls deep, that tightness becomes more overwhelming, urging you to give your all, as if the sight of her all sprawled out and creaming on your cock isn't enough already. 

It's merciless. And your hips start to reach their limit, but Arin's desperate cries of pleasure become so loud, that she has no choice but to muffle herself with her hand, almost forgetting that this seldom used bathroom is still right by the science lab—and anyone could be lingering around. 

"Fucking fill me, professor. Empty your balls. Just keep—oh god, fuck, fuck," Arin whimpers, the limits of her body creeping up fast as your cock pistons so harshly in and out of her hot cunt. "Wanna milk every last drop right out of you, make you cum so fucking hard."

"Only if you’re good and cum on this cock, Yewon. Cum all over me, and I'll fucking fill this cunt up."

"Yes, god, yes," she says, practically falling back against the mirror while you brutally hammer into her at full force. She barely keeps the coherence when it all peaks, when you feel those impossibly tight walls clenching around your cock, borderline painful, forcing you to use every ounce of strength to not burst inside her just yet. 

"Fuck, professor, this dick is so amazing—I'm gonna cum all over it, all over your fucking huge cock," Arin says as her pussy squeezes the life out of your cock with every impale in that wet, intoxicating heat. A flood of her fluids almost forces you out, an absolute mess that drowns your shaft in slick rips through her body without any care, and all you can do is fuck her through it. 

Even when her orgasm subsides, and she somehow becomes tighter, wetter, easier to sink into, you don't show any remorse while fucking her tight pussy until you can't possibly hold on any further. 

"You're close, aren't you, professor?" Arin gasps between collecting her breath as the pleasure begins to fade, watching the struggle you're going through to hold it back. "I know you are. Please, let me have all that cum. Blow your fucking load in me, let it all out." 

That's all you need to be shoved straight over the edge, taking a few final strokes before that pressure builds up to a boiling point, and nothing’s going to stop you when you’re about to burst. “Yewon—“ 

Her name barely escapes before you’re throbbing, letting out all types of lustful grunts while her pussy smothers you in  warmth, offering the best place for such a messy release of seed that shoots out, coating her insides the way she begs for. 

Your cock violently pulsates until you’re left with nothing but orgasmic relief, unloading shot after shot deep inside Arin with the thickest spurts imaginable that empty into her warm little pussy. These tight, tight walls take every drop, welcoming such a huge load that’s even somehow stronger than what her mouth did to you earlier.  

There’s no way you could do anything else with how delicious she looks on this bathroom counter. With whatever remnants of energy are left, you use all the power in your hips until they lose steam, remaining inside her euphoric cunt that refuses to relinquish you. You ride out wave after wave, each spasm pumping more cum into her, all this intoxicating bliss that feels like it’ll never end. 

And truly, both of you wish it never would. 

“Professor…” Arin can barely speak between breaths, riding this collective high that fills the room with heavy panting, and sweat glistens on whatever bare skin her revealing outfit offers. You’re right there with her, caressing her thighs, her messy cunt wringing out as much out of you as possible, like it doesn’t want your cock to escape, even after your entire load is buried inside that delicious warmth. 

“Came so hard on you, professor, fuck... I love the way your cum feels when you push it deeper, all the way into my womb. Wanna keep it all here until you’re ready for round two.” 

"You're fucking insatiable, Yewon," you sigh, dropping Arin's legs back onto the counter, which relinquishes the intense grip you’ve held, allowing her body a chance to relax. When your breathing returns to something somewhat stable, you lean over to give her a tired kiss, one that’s easily returned with whatever remaining energy she has. 

“Can you blame me when your dick is this good? It’s only your fault I turned into such a greedy little cumslut.” 

“Or maybe you were already like that before I even met you…"

"Yeah. Maybe."

Arin looks away as she starts to giggle, giving you a perfect chance to kiss that exposed cheek. When she glances back, you share an impossibly long stare, one that goes on far too long without words until you lean in for another kiss—

One that gets interrupted by a knock at the door. 

"Hello? Is anyone there? Custodial services, I'm here to clean up." 

You must have angered some kind of god for this to happen two times in one day. Even worse, there’s no easy way out of this while you're still buried inside Arin, the least of your concerns as this creamy mess threatens to spill out. 

"I, uh—need a moment. Spilled something on my shirt that won't come out. Be out in a bit," you blurt out, barely thinking while you look around at the poor bathroom that's been defiled. Arin can't help herself, covering her mouth to help from not immediately bursting into laughter as she fumbles to button back up her shirt. 

“You’re such a bad liar,” Arin whispers, but you just roll your eyes at her, glancing over the sweat on her body that you’d no doubt be licking clean were the two of you not nervously waiting to see if this unfamiliar man outside will buy your story.

"No problem, sir. Take your time, I'll be back after.” The janitor shuffles his feet, and you listen carefully, wondering just how obvious the two of you were being. When you can no longer hear footsteps, you release the longest sigh, and slowly pull out of Arin, along with an utterly unreal amount of hot semen that spills out. 

"Can't believe he bought that," Arin sighs while hopping off the counter, where more of your cum gushes out as soon as she stands up. "Can't believe you came so much inside me, either."

"If I recall, you were quite literally begging me not to stop."

"No need to be smug about it, professor."

Arin does her best to look presentable in the mirror and fix her disheveled hair, shirt only half buttoned, and skirt a complete mess, but it all seems so futile. There's no real way to hide how she looks after getting railed over the sink relentlessly, or the cum still dripping all over her thighs that she doesn't even bother to clean up. 

"We should get out of here before he comes back," Arin says after giving her appearance a once-over, making any minor adjustment to try and fix how ruined she looks. "Shall I leave first, professor?"

The question has only one obvious answer, but you still can't form your lips properly to speak it. "Not so fast, Miss Choi."

"Oh? Am I forgetting something?" Arin asks while running fingers through her hair again. You step towards her, pressing into her back to wrap your arms around her tiny frame before planting a kiss on the side of her neck.

"Yeah—me. You're not leaving this room without me."

You notice her grin in the mirror as your lips graze her skin again, nipping right on that sensitive spot that makes her gasp. 

"Don't tell me you're wanting to go again. After we almost got caught. Again—"

"No, not yet," you say between kisses, drawing closer and closer up her neck. "Need a little bit more rest for that."

"You poor thing. Did my pussy wear you out that much, professor?"

"You can barely stand upright as it is," you retort, taking your mouth away from her neck for a moment. Arin stifles a laugh that turns into a moan when your hand creeps up her skirt to touch her dripping folds still leaking your cum. "You need this a lot more than I do."

"Is that so? Well—fuck," Arin moans, unable to hide her body betraying her words as she grips the edge of the counter when two of your fingers slide into her without warning, pushing a mixture of her nectar and the load you pumped inside deep into her messy cunt. 

"It's too bad I can't continue this," you say, and withdraw those fingers from Arin's clenching pussy that so desperately tries to keep them in to no avail. "Let's get out of here. But you're not leaving my side."

"If you insist, professor." Arin has no further words, fixing up her skirt while so much thick seed oozes beneath. "But isn't it a little risky to leave together?"

"Probably. But besides, even if somebody does see us, so what? There's not much they can do about it even if they can already tell what just happened. And what are you always saying—how much you love the risk?"

"Guess I'm rubbing off on you, hmm?"

"Not a chance, Miss Choi," you correct, causing that grin across her face to grow wider. "I'm just tired of sneaking around so much."

"Me too, professor." 

You turn to leave, opening the bathroom door to poke your head around the corner. Luckily, there doesn't seem to be anyone around, only a couple of students you don't recognize standing nearby chatting, paying no mind as you and Arin sneak out successfully together.

“Where are we headed?” asks Arin as she settles in right next to you, something that's going to take getting used to. 

"Dunno. Cafeteria is still open. Guess we can head there first."

"Not if it's still raining. It's a bit of a trek, isn't it?" 

"My car's right out front. And if we so happen to take a little detour..." 

"Now who's being insatiable, professor?" she asks, with this little teasing giggle in her voice. 

“What? Who said I planned on doing anything with you other than grabbing some dinner? You know, I don't think you've had anything in your mouth today but my—"

"Professor!" Arin's not used to your conversation being this open, or being on the opposite side of being so flustered. "Save it for when we're not outside! Or better, the back seat. With the doors locked, preferably."

"As you wish, Miss Choi. Besides, but there's nothing I rather eat than your—"

She desperately covers your mouth to stop any further words from escaping as you head to the parking lot, surprised to see there's nothing but abundant sunshine now. Even more surprising is the fact nobody looks twice as the two of you walk together. Maybe it's luck, or maybe everybody here knows damn well what happens on campus between you two. 

And maybe you'll stop sneaking around campus every day, finding just enough time to spend the last half of your lunch hour buried between Arin’s thighs while she tries to hold her moans. 

But maybe you won't. 

[lilianade-comics]

Stolen Sanguine World-Building Dump

@taptrial2 asked and ye shall receive. What follows is a mass information pit for my Vlad Cleavage AU Danny Phantom vampire AU, Stolen Sanguine. This post will just be about world-building, the storyline will be covered separately.

The time period and culture influences are deliberately vague, but it's pseudo-Victorian, pseudo-fantasy, pseudo-pre Industrial Rev with no consistent clothing styles beyond the vampires being obnoxiously slutty.

Vampires live among humans and the ones that live the longest and thrive the most are the rich and powerful, highly immoral ones. Common people who are turned and not willing to become gluttonous murderers are usually swiftly dispatched by hunters. Being turned involves intent on the part of the vampire, and venom is the agent. New vampires are not common or accidental (unless you're Danny) because in general vampires like the status quo and creating more competition for territory isn't in anyone's best interest. Vampire on vampire murders aren't common for the same reasons. Vlad, however, is an insane little freak and has killed his own kind before. To drastically paraphrase one notable instance is Aragon, who once decided he'd pick on the new guy in town by kidnapping his four year old and turning her into his vampire bride. Vlad stabbed Aragon about three dozen times, recovered Dani safe and sound, and no one has bothered them since.

Society is entering an era where the general populace at large is becoming more collectively aware of the existence of vampires and other paranormal folk and it's more difficult to work in the shadows than it used to be. Hunters are becoming more mainstream, and while vampires have always placed emphasis on securing wealth and power, it's now more critical to have those societal protections in place.

Generally speaking, vampires are almost exclusively loners and not social with each other. This is mostly because every vampire believes that other vampires are insufferable, and they are the singular delightful exception. Penelope Spectra, Vlad's neighbor and ally, is an outlier, as she is very social for a vampire and often holds parties. She herself lives with Bertrand, whom she turned some years ago.

The vampiric power system revolves around blood. By consuming human blood, vampires regularly renew their immortality and their enhanced strength and healing. Vampiric blood itself is also endowed with certain powers, as it remains tied to the soul of the vampire even after it leaves their body. There's a culture of blood jewelry given as gifts to favorite thralls as a mark of ownership.

To say vampires merely consume blood is to ignore the whole reality. It's not just the blood, it's what the blood contains, that is, the vitality or life of the individual. Every time a vampire feeds off of someone they consume a bit of that person's life and soul. It's an active parasitic relationship that brings only misery to the consumed. Animal blood will keep a vampire alive, but it won't grant them the powers they rely on and it won't fully satisfy their hunger. Danny is doing his best, but he's basically starving himself.

A human that a vampire frequently feeds on turns into a thrall. Thralls are sickly, clingy and basically brainwashed into being willing juice boxes. You don't want to become one. Some vampires will keep them in their houses because it's very convenient. Vlad has his blood supply imported, because he's got a daughter to think of.

Vampiric weaknesses include sunlight, which burns them, and the need to be invited into dwellings or suffer the loss of their powers. There are ways to circumvent both weaknesses, however, and Vlad has found ways around both during his years of experimentation. The only way to kill a vampire is to destroy their heart, so the classic wooden stake is the weapon of choice for hunters. Jack and Maddie are particularly creative with their weaponry, though.

The GIW exist here, as a sort of white-tunic wearing anti-vampire cult/organization. Their designs are pending further thought, because white robes and hoods have some unfortunate connotations I'd prefer to avoid.

Werewolves and dragons exist here, but they're mostly mentioned in passing and also because I think it would be amusing if Danielle tried to date a werewolf prince while Vlad makes semi-serious plans to turn the poor boy into a rug if the relationship goes awry.

There is a Vampire King, but he's been sealed away in eternal slumber because he's more trouble than he's worth. Vampires will go through long periods of sleep every so often if things are going poorly for them, and it usually involves a coffin and a hidden crypt. They are of course, nocturnal beings, but they don't have to sleep as much as humans and Vlad is committed to raising Danielle diurnally. This causes some problems for him, but he's extremely stubborn and refuses to let the sun get between him and his daughter.

Other vampires consider Vlad to be completely out of his mind after the unfortunate Aragon incident. It's not normal to adopt your lunch. Spectra thinks Vlad's obvious mental illness is very attractive and she likes watching him kill people.

Vlad lived in a proper spooky castle before acquiring Danielle, but after he fled Jack and Maddie he moved extremely far away and settled into a smaller but no less creepy manor outside of a small rural village. Danielle is by no means forbidden from visiting the village and Vlad encourages the townsfolk to allow their children to befriend/suck up to her on a regular basis. Sometimes this involves blatant extortion, such as the time Vlad forcibly invited (kidnapped) a select handful of children and their trembling mothers to attend Danielle's birthday party.

Vlad likes to gaslight the people living in the village outside of his manor. They're all 95% sure he's a vampire, because he certainly couldn't look or act any more like one, but Vlad vehemently denies it. Danielle is accustomed to doing the same, and in reality she is actually the most compelling evidence that Vlad ISN'T a vampire. Because what vampire has a happy, healthy, bite-wound free child in their care?

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ mornings don't feel the same without you | iwaizumi hajime

wc: 3.0k

summary: ​​hajime thinks that it's been a long time coming for him to wake up with this realization.

contains: implied f!reader, lingerie, use of slut (teasingly/jokingly, not to reader), lots of suggestive stuff (touching, implied sex), so much love!!, hajime is also a wee bit sentimental here, established relationship

a/n: not a lot of plot, just a lot of love! haven’t written hajime in a while, but he’s on my mind all the time. these are the songs that inspired me: lights down low, never had you, it’s you, and forever right now. 

part of how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas) + the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Hajime thinks he’s built a pretty solid life for himself—good health, good job, good relationships; all on equal footing, in no particular order. The routine he’s built is deliberate and filled with purpose, a system diligently followed to keep himself running. 

He firmly believes that if you want to live the life you want, you have to start with yourself. A simple choice, the first step. 

And Hajime’s chosen the mornings, an old conscious effort to wake up at 6:00 on the dot now transformed into a natural rise to the softness of daylight. 

You call him a creature of habit, one that leaves no day to rest, even on Valentine’s Day. 

Sunlight trickles between his curtains, ripples of translucent white highlighting the tip of your nose. He sees you through a sleep haze, olive eyes blinking awake like the leaves on your bedside, ready to tickle your cheek and wave when you turn the other way. 

It suits you, he thinks, to be touched by light when you don’t know it. 

You’re warm under the palm of his hand, bare flesh a soft place to rest between him and your hip bone. If he focuses hard enough, he can feel the faint thump of your heartbeat, almost in tandem with the small puffs of air hitting his chin. 

He sighs, the corners of his mouth curling in contentment. 

A good life. 

Evidence of last night is strewn across the room—the red tulips on your bedside and his slacks hanging off the bed. The shirt he’d worn lies atop the dress he slipped off you, half of your black two-piece set caught in it.

The memory replays vividly—bites to his neck down to his collarbone, a pull of his hair and his lower lip caught between yours. You handle Hajime roughly because you know he can take it, know that it gets him going the more you want him. 

But with you, he takes his time—runs his fingers over every area he’s grown fond of (which is everywhere, really). He strips you down slowly, unwrapping you like a gift labeled: handle with care, open gently. 

Then, he savors it—you.

The wrapper lies next to his head, half-tucked underneath his pillow, a piece of elegant black lace you know drives him crazy. 

A perk of celebrating Valentine’s Day two ways is that one half belongs to him and the other to you—a team effort to make the day as special as it can be. 

He shifts, hand sliding up to rest on your waist. The movement causes you to stir, digging your cheek deeper into your pillow as you scrunch your brows—a sign of you coming to wake. 

Hajime immediately shuts his eyes, feigning sleep. Last night was all his—flowers, a nice dinner, and the dessert that came after it. This morning is yours, with only one instruction for him: sleep in. 

How upset would you be if he ruined your surprise? 

The bed dips on your side, no doubt you reaching for the bedside to check the time. Even with his eyes shut, he has your mornings memorized. A whispered ‘shit’ almost makes him break into a smile, but he reigns it in, expression neutral and breathing steady. 

You move again, his hand still on your waist as you turn once more, to what he can only assume is to face him. There’s a momentary pause that makes him worry you’ve found him out, but he feels your fingertips run over the crease between his brows, smoothening it out the way you always do. 

(He has a terrible habit of frowning in his sleep, he’s learned.)

It makes him nervous the longer you linger, the tips of your fingers sliding down the bridge of his nose to rest on his lips, running over it once, twice. Then you sigh, inching closer before gently nudging his nose with yours.

The small peck you land on his lips almost makes him break, but he holds it in, letting you sneak away (albeit badly) for whatever it is you’re planning for today. 

(The bed dips too deeply, comforter rustling as you untangle yourself from it. You stub your toe on the edge of your bedside table and attempt to muffle an ‘ouch’, even though he can hear you—pretty clearly actually. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from chuckling.)

If it were up to him, Hajime would just keep you here, no sneaking around or stubbed toes, no surprise or anything—just you, wrapped in his arms, under his sheets. 

.

Just as he’d promised though, he did sleep in (if an extra 20 minutes of forcing his eyes shut counts as that). 

The flowers on your bedside are gone, and so is his shirt—the sheets beside him crinkled in the shape of your haste to get up from it. He yawns, running a hand through his hair to fix up the mess you made of it last night. 

As part of his routine, Hajime stretches, first with his neck—side-to-side, up-and-down—then with his back, twisting left and right. Next, he changes, puts on a pair of gray sweatpants that you claim must be a staple in his wardrobe (you say he looks like he could fuck you up, its hem hanging dangerously low to reveal the grooves of that deep v-line leading to his pelvis).

After pushing aside the curtains for sunlight to stream through, he cleans the room, picking up the mess of clothes on the floor and making the bed; you usually do this, because you’re particular with the pillow placements, but he’ll take over for now. 

This should buy you enough time, right? An extra 10 minutes for your planned surprise.

He takes a breath, doing one last scan of the room before stepping out. 

As soon as he gets into the hallway, he smells chocolate. 

Each step he takes is consciously softened as he carries his weight, carefully making his way to the sight of you, back towards him in nothing but his t-shirt hanging temptingly high to barely conceal black lace. You seem focused, entirely preoccupied with the kitchen stove.

A familiar feeling settles into his stomach, warm and soothing, one he’s been having more and more around you lately. The corner of his lips curl up. 

For Hajime, the best way to start the day is with the morning light and you.

He sneaks up behind your back, peeking over your shoulder at the chocolate pancakes you seem to be slowly ladling into the pan. And just when you’ve formed a figure he can only assume is a heart, he takes a step closer, hands resting on your hips as he scrunches up the fabric between his fingers.

“Morning,” he whispers, chin resting on your shoulder as his lips brush the side of your neck, soft and ticklish; you shiver, just a little bit. 

The greeting comes out rough, husky, and you lean into him, your hand coming to rest over his, hiking up your (his) shirt to reveal a slight peek at the black lace hugging the curves of your buttcheek. 

“Morning.” you chuckle when you hear his breath hitch. The pancake in front of you gets flipped to the other side. 

“How’s your head?” he moves to peck your temple. Hajime knows you get the worst hangovers no matter how little you have to drink, and last night was by no means little.

You groan, turning off the stove, letting the residual heat cook the pancake through. 

“Terr–” 

As you turn to him within his arms, you pause, blinking uncontrollably at the presence of Hajime’s bare skin in front of you. Your eyes go wide, zeroing in on the full chest beneath your palms, the cuts of his shoulders, and his arms. Oh—

“Slut.” your brows furrow, lips pouting as you stifle a smile. 

Hajime laughs, olive eyes crinkling as he holds you closer, hands coming to clasp at your lower back. 

“Put on a shirt, you know I can’t focus like this.” 

He knows, because you say this almost every morning, every time. 

“I would,” remnants of his amusement linger on his lips, hand reaching to squeeze your butt as he narrows his gaze mischievously, “but someone stole it.” 

You giggle, arms coming up to wind around his neck, fingers playing with the shorter strands of his hair. Then, you tiptoe, white fuzzy slippers slotting itself between his matching green ones as you tilt your head up for a kiss. 

As it is, Hajime’s liking how this surprise is going. 

He leans in, eyes falling shut as he presses against you. His hand cradles your jaw, callused skin tickling you ever so slightly as he guides your head to turn the other way. Hajime can hardly stop whenever you get him started like this, your lower lip already caught between his teeth. 

But you nip it, right as his other hand crawls underneath your shirt, pulling away as he tries to chase for more. The frown on his face is hard to miss. 

“Gonna get dressed,” you smile amusedly, feigning innocence.

“Isn’t this already too dressed?” he raises an eyebrow, tugging at your (his) shirt. His fingers trail lower, hooking themselves into the lace of your underwear. 

“Don’t be a flirt,” you scrunch your nose, “I feel gross.” 

He squeezes your hip, “I’m gross too.” 

You give him a look. 

He gives you one back. 

If Hajime had the words, he’d tell you you’re the furthest thing from gross, making him breakfast in his clothes and that pretty black number you know drives him up-the-wall crazy.

This is the stuff of his dreams. 

But then you give him those eyes, and you know just as well he’s weak to that too. So he sighs, loosening his grip so you can slip away. 

“I’ll make you eggs!” he calls out as you disappear into the bedroom. 

Your breakfast spread for him is set up on the counter, the chocolate heart pancake on the pan the last needed addition to complete everything. It’s sweet, how you prepared a full-on chocolate feast for him: hot chocolate with chocolate heart pancakes, and butter also in the shape of a heart. The tulips he’d gotten you rest prettily inside the vase he remembers from your first anniversary pottery date.

He feels especially sentimental today taking everything in, noticing how the mug that holds your half-finished coffee matches the one that holds his hot chocolate. 

In the little over two years that you’ve been together, you’ve assimilated yourself into his space so naturally that it feels like you’ve always just been here—that it feels right how all your chips fill up the entire bottom shelf of his pantry because you love snacking on them whenever, wherever.

He cracks in two eggs. 

The throw on his couch matches the pillows all because of you, and bottles of your daily vitamins sit perfectly beside all his supplements in the spice-rack turned morning-essentials-rack (one of your so-called organization hacks). 

The pan sizzles, edges of the eggs turning crisp—just how you like it (lately, it’s how he’s been liking it too). 

When you step out of the bedroom, Hajime’s begun plating your food, pouring in another batch of coffee and preparing a bowl of fruits. 

(Today, it’s strawberries—one of your favorites. He made sure to stock up on that for today.) 

Hajime thinks he’s built a pretty solid life for himself—

He prides himself on his routine and the stability of his day-to-day: the mornings, with you raiding his closet and stealing his clothes; the late afternoons, when he picks you up from work and you crash his place because it’s begun to feel so much more like home. 

The evenings cap the day off perfectly, with you tucked under his chin and your leg slung over his hip. It’s too warm, but you get cold easily and he doesn’t mind the warmth when you’re pressed up skin-to-skin. 

And when he sees you in his sweatshirt—the one paired with the sweatpants he’s wearing right now, he smirks knowingly, setting down the utensils with a dopey smile on his face. 

This is good. 

—his life that you now also fit into. 

“Sorry you had to prep the rest,” you pad towards the counter, taking a seat on the stool as he waves it off and sits beside you, “thank you.” 

Without even a word, there’s a painkiller sitting on the palm of his hand, open and waiting for you already. 

You stare at him, puppy-dog eyes and everything, pouting as your fingertips graze his, “I love you.” 

He laughs, rolling his eyes jokingly as he hands you a glass of water, his cheeks already dusted peach.

Shyness still hits him when you’re so vocal like this, but Hajime has known he’s loved you since that day at some outdoor concert you dragged him into. The forecast was gloomy but you’d insisted it was an experience he shouldn’t miss, so he agreed—packed an umbrella and wore a jacket with a hood even, just in case. 

But there you were, in the middle of the downpour, dancing under the rain, and when you’d beckoned him closer, you had that same look on your face. 

“Love you too,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing his lips against it, “happy Valentine’s Day, babe.” 

Breakfasts with the two of you are usually rushed, but work for him today isn’t until noon and you have an entire day off to pack for a two-week business trip you’re set to leave for tomorrow.

So, this is nice. You both have time.  

You’re talking about all sorts of things—some work gossip, that nice old lady who lives a few units down from him; there’s the whole itinerary for your business trip too—meeting here, meeting there. An extra hour to kill to maybe sightsee. Evenings are usually free, and so on. 

But as he’s chewing on half of the chocolate heart pancake, he just can’t, for the life of him, stop thinking. 

The more he hears about your schedule for the upcoming weeks, the more he’s realizing that this is the longest time you’ll be apart.

And he wonders, what’s that gonna be like? 

Most of your clothes will be gone from his dresser, his bathroom counter half-empty without all your skincare. No overheating at night without your arm wrapped firmly around his spine. Just one mug during breakfast, not two, and only a single pair of green fuzzy slippers pacing around the rooms. 

It’ll be a little like how it was before you.

And he hates how that’s even a possibility.  

He takes a sip from his mug.

“So, Oikawa’s taking me out on a date. Is that okay with you?” you lean against your palm, elbow supported on the counter. 

He nods, humming as he sets down the hot chocolate. 

“Hajime.” you hide your smile. 

He snaps out of it, “Hm?” 

“So you’re okay with me going on a date with Oikawa?” 

His knee-jerk scowl is much more like it. 

“That fucker asked you out?” 

You laugh, shaking your head while taking his hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Just seeing if you were listening.” 

A pause, then a squeeze. 

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking?” 

He tilts his head slightly; one look at you and you draw it all out of him. There’s something about this—breakfasts in his kitchen, with you wearing his clothes and the morning light streaming in. You share a joke or two (or five), a few teasing touches here and there, the mood relaxed and just overwhelmingly nice. 

Hajime is so authentically himself when he’s with you that he doesn’t want anyone else knowing the parts of him that you do—

Everyone would be surprised to find that his typically uptight self is surprisingly funny when he’s let loose; he’s made you laugh a good number of times to prove it, too. 

The boys would never let him live it down if they saw him peach-faced at the tiniest bit of your affection; and they’ll tease him for eternity if they find out that the reason he taps out so early during ‘boys’ nights’ is because he still gets so excited to cuddle in bed with you. 

This is the kind of day-to-day he wants, and he knows you’re the key to all of it. 

—so, Hajime chooses you, much like he’s chosen the mornings. 

“Move in with me,” he tells you simply, two fields of olive green sincerity. 

The words flow out of him with an intensity uninhibited, something you don’t get from him very often. Your expression shifts, breath on hold and—

“When you get back.” he follows up quickly, giving you space to consider it first, “What do you think?” 

All logic is telling him he should be nervous, that this is the defining moment of another goal he’s been working his ass off to reach, but somehow, with his hand in yours, this feels easy. Comfortable in all the good ways because loving you has always been just that. 

“Sex last night was that good, huh?” 

And this—there’s never been a problem with this too. 

He snorts, cheeks turning a deep peach. 

“Just realizing that mornings don’t feel the same without you,” he admits, pulling you closer. You hop off the stool and inch closer, standing between his legs as he rests his hands on your lower back.  

“Flirt.” you scrunch your nose, squeezing his waist. 

You say that, but he sees how your smile reaches your eyes; how it glosses over when you catch his gaze. 

“Okay, muscle boy,” your hands settle on his shoulders, fingers splayed out over every dip and curve, “better do all the moving then. Want all my stuff here by the time I get back.” 

.

And he does—

When you get back, he’s contacted his landlord to get you on the lease. Your clothes are all in his (or now your?) apartment, some still in boxes but the essentials already organized in the closet now split to house both of your things. 

There’re pieces of you everywhere now, not just touches like a person half-there. A lot of the big furniture is still at your place, but that’s really just because he wants to leave that part up to you. 

—after all, it’s your home now too.

thank you notes: @augustinewrites for loving hajime as much as i do 🥹 lights down low used to be a normal soft song for me before, now it belongs to him bc of u + @soumies @mysugu bc this is kinda really so self-shippy and every time i think of seiwa i think of you both 🥺 + @ktsumu for requesting this! i know it only slightly follows the prompt but i hope you enjoy my spin on it anyway 🥺

a/n: i don't think any amount of fic can express how much i love him 🥹 but i hope this comes close 🥹

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[david-talks-sw]

Note: The meta below wasn't written by me, it was sent to me as an Ask by an anonymous user. It was so good that sharing it without adding some images I had lying around and extra formatting (boldening/italics) to it would've been criminal, so that's my only contributions. Thank you anon, and enjoy the read folks :)

What more could the Jedi have done?

I think a lot of the discourse about the "Jedi being slavers" comes from a deliberately uncharitable and bad faith reading of them.

I agree with you that TCW raises these questions and chooses not to go through with addressing them because it is ultimately a kids show that isn't trying to tell a story about the clones' situation but about [the Clone War itself].

But whenever I see people choose to go into these deeper ethical debates, they almost always assign an unfairly disproportionate amount of blame onto the Jedi who are, for the most part, in the same boat as the clones. Even the clones themselves seem to understand the nuance of the situation and most are grateful to the Jedi for coming in and leading them.

Although, yes, the clones do have it much, much worse, the Jedi are still there, fighting, protecting and dying right alongside them.

The Jedi are blamed for being part of the Republic in spite of all its issues, far more than the Senate is for being the Republic, even though the Senate is the one with all the power.

I wonder what it is people wanted the Jedi to even do for the clones...

OPTION 1: Leave the Republic?

And let the Separatists (whose originally legitimate grievances have been hijacked by the Sith) freely commit mass atrocities and enslave other planets with their humongous droid army?

OPTION 2: Overthrow the Republic?

And then what?

Take control of the Senate and become literal dictators and the very things they sought to destroy?

And during this whole takeover process, does the Separatist army just magically pause committing its mass atrocities?

So in the middle of a galactic war, the Jedi, with their limited numbers and resources, decide to start another one against the Republic to free the clones and ignore all the other planets getting destroyed and enslaved, and then...? [Also] the Republic citizens were largely unwilling to fight their own battles and preferred to leave all the fighting to the Jedi and the clones. So, now:

Do [the Jedi] force their new "Republic" to make its own army to fight the Separatists? Do they enforce a draft on the "natborns"?

All of this ⬆️ is premised on the Jedi even being willing to throw away their democratic values, and on the clones even WANTING THEM TO DO SO. Yes the clones are in a terrible situation, but the harsh truth is that, canonically, they do share the same values as the Jedi.

People can argue that they're brainwashed into this, and I would even agree. But that doesn't make it any less true that these are still their values. Most of them want to fight for the Republic.

They should have the choice available to pursue another path if they wanted, but the show - and thus the clones and the Jedi - barely have the time to consider all these issues because they are in the middle of a war.

In the show, [the clones] are the conveniently available highly-trained army that the Republic was going to use with or without the Jedi because it was all a trap set by a Sith Lord.

The Jedi, who were supposed to be some hybrid of social workers, peace-keepers and diplomats, were drafted into a war they did not want, and did not fight [the draft] because they had made an oath to the Republic, and because the alternative was letting billions get killed.

They were between a rock and a hard place and chose to prioritize trying to end the immediate war first before fighting for the rights of the clone army (which - again - is not even their job! Padme, Mon Mothma and Bail and all the other politicians are RIGHT THERE!)

The Jedi were a minority religious order whose own situation in the Republic was precarious, as evidenced by the fact that the citizens were willing to cheerlead their genocide just a couple of years in and gleefully bought into anti-Jedi propaganda en masse.

A more charitable reading of the Jedi would take all this ⬆️ context into account before declaring them slavers/slavery-enablers and surmise that... no, they did not agree with how the Republic was treating the clone army.

They were most likely hoping the Senate would enact a democratic solution to this after the war, so they tried to end the war as quickly as they could.

And no, they didn't "selfishly decide to overthrow/kill Palps just because they found out the Chancellor was their religious enemy when they were unwilling to do so for the clones."

It was because they realised that - all this time - they had all been under the control of a Sith Lord who had orchestrated a sham war to destroy them and take power for himself.